My Dream
by Comfortable Misery
Summary: England starts to dream about his previous life in another parallel world that he's not suppose to remember. He was a really lonely bullied orphan who's life was turned around by his little "brother" Alfred. Tragedy ensues though. Any reviews are welcomed here. Beware of crazy first chapter! Read only if you can handle the insanity!
1. Chapter 1

"Al? Al?! God dammit Al, talk to me!"

Hot tears streamed down the boy's face. He writhed in pain, clutching where his leg used to be. He could feel his sickly warm blood gust onto his hand and onto the floor.

"No… It wasn't supposed to… Damn!" he yelled helplessly to no one.

"I won't let it end like this, Al," he panted as he pounded the floor with his fist once. His little brother was nowhere to be found; all that was left of him was a puddle of his blood.

The dark room was illuminated only by the malicious looking glows in the center of the floor. They were seeping through the chalk the boy had drawn to create a foreign like circle, which was bright white inside. It looked like it could lead to another world. Purple aura was enveloping him from all around. They had taken Alfred, he realized. But the circle was already closing, fast. He shot his body towards it and with both hands, one soaking with blood; he forced the portal to stay open. Salty sweat and tears shined on his face as he gazed into the blank abyss. And he began to sob angrily at it,

"I know he's not my real brother, but he's all I have left now! Don't take him, PLEASE! I need him, bring him back dammit! I'll give you anything!" His last words hung in the air for what felt like minutes.

"He's my little brother! Anything! Take anything, everything! You can even take me, just don't leave me here alone…" he choked out in a broken voice. He was shaking and his head felt light as more of his blood left his body. He didn't want to be alone ever again…

So without hesitation he pushed himself through the circle, not caring whether it led to beautiful salvation or hellish damnation. If Alfred was there, he would follow the same fate.

Unbelievably pure white lights blinded him so much he had to squeeze his eyes tight. But he could still feel it pulsating into his brain. It felt like he was being pulled apart, piece by piece. His flesh, nerves, and muscle tearing slowly from all over him. He screamed until he thought his life would burst. He couldn't hear himself though. He heard nothing but a loud ringing in his ears. He had lost sense of time, space and maybe even humanity as well. The pain was getting more unbearable with each passing moment. The only thing solid in the universe was the pain. He didn't even know his name anymore.

Maybe he had spent two eternities in the never-ending abyss of pain, or was it just one second? He didn't know. Everything was smudged in his mind and nothing was clear. He had forgotten his reason for living, why was he here?

ALFRED.

Memories flooded him and all the feelings of happiness, joy, love, affection, and bliss he had ever felt in his life filled his mind all at once that it exploded the universe of pain and made it into something so beautiful that it got rid of all the bad and loneliness. And he remembered why he had lived through all of that. Because of Alfred. Because of Alfred. Because of Alfred. Because of Alfred. Because of Alfred…

He opened his eyes and was greeted by a young man's fac. The face beamed down at him, radiating a soft delight. His golden hair shone in the small rays of sunlight and his eyes twinkled blue.

"Let's get going England!" the man said and a wind blew through them.

They were under a huge tree, hiding underneath its shade. England raised his hand and stared at it. He then noticed how wonderfully blue the sky looked, decorated with white fluffy clouds.

"What's wrong? Bad dream?" the man, who had been waiting asked with a bit of a concerned yet amused face.

Putting his hand over his face the other mumbled,

"No, just remembering another world, America."


	2. Meeting My Brother Alfred

**A friend asked me to put in my interpretation of my dream. So I have written my own background story that complies to my dream. Here you are, Elizabeth.**

Arthur Kirkland was alone. He was an orphan and didn't have any friends. Arthur Kirkland was alone.

"Hey, eyebrows, watch out!" a voice yelled. Then, out of nowhere a hand knocked all the books he was holding out of his hands and onto to the muddy floor. They splattered everywhere as laughter exploded in the boy's ears.

"Sorry, were you going to practice your witchcraft, eyebrows?" one of the bullies asked mockingly. Arthur recognized his voice. He knew all too well who it was, tormenting him. He knew from all the nights of crying himself to sleep and from all those days of wishing he was someone else. Oh, he knew him too well. His chest gave an uncomfortable squeeze of fear every time he heard that voice.

"Well? Cat got your tongue?" he asked with a bit more venom in his tone. Arthur lifted his head slowly to look at his oppressor, Francis Bonnefoy. He stood several inches taller, with his silky blond hair that fell a little above his shoulders. His flunkies, Antonio and Gilbert, sniggered at him.

Arthur felt his shoulders shrug as he kept his mouth glued tight. Francis lifted an eyebrow and spoke in a deadly voice,

"On, you don't know do you? Well maybe this will help you." And with that, him and his lackeys began to push, kick, punch, and insult Arthur until Madam Greenery came out bearing her favorite choice of weapon, a wooden broom.

"See you around witch!"

The boys cackled as they ran away, leaving the smaller boy sobbing on the wet dirty pavement street of Old London.

The dark secretive alleys were the boy's favorite refuge. He found it the world's greatest pleasure exploring little hidden passage ways that connected themselves to everywhere in the city. They were endless.

But even that has been ruined. The other boy's from the orphanage had found out where Arthur had been disappearing to. They were restless and persistent in ruining his pathetic life.

Early on, Arthur had learned how to avoid the "group". Burt recently he finds himself more beaten up than ever before. Oh how he hated them! Can't they just let him be miserable alone? Well, deep in his heart somewhere, he yearned to be with them. (Well not Francis, because he's always rubbed him the wrong way, that dirty frog...)

Because unlike many, Arthur had remembered a time, a life even, before the orphanage. And it made it ten times worse. The blond boy picked himself up and trotted off, leaving his books to suffer. Tears blinded him as he hiccupped to himself. He's gotten terribly sick of the empty gloomy looking streets of the place.

He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles as he remembered his very different life; a life with warm smiles and soft caresses, a life with the smell of gentle perfume and the taste of delicious scones. But his shivering snapped him out of his reverie. He didn't know how much more heartbreak he could take, so he squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned against a mossy wall. He let himself slip against it as he began to lose himself in his own private nightmare.

_"Mummy… Are you there?" No answer. His heartbeat sped in his chest like the wings of a hummingbird. Panic swallowed his heart as he tried to look for his dear mummy. Then there was a crash; a loud crash that shook his bones. He would never forget the sound of that crash, because he would always think that there was a pained scream hidden there. Arthur followed the sounds, navigating through the small rooms of his home. But his legs stopped at the entrance of the kitchen. Oh! There was mummy! But why was she sleeping on the floor? It didn't make sense to him. _

_ Then he saw the blood.  
It was splattered carelessly against the wall and across the clean floors. Even though it scared the living hell out of him, he couldn't help but find it a bit beautiful. A sudden chill in the air made his heart stop for a moment. A dark cloaked figure floated above his mother. Arthur tried to call out it, he tried to yell at the figure to stay away from his sleeping mother, but then it turned around. That face… that was the face that he dreamt about night and day. He couldn't explain even if his life depended on it. The only way he could was… that it was the face of fear._

A cry escaped his chapped lips, but he didn't hear it. Instead he felt a soft warm wind. He opened his glassy eyes and saw a wonderful world that definitely was not London. A wide beautiful field of long golden wheat that quivered in the strangest yet beautiful way was in front of him. He was waist-deep as he looked up into the endlessly blue sky. The blue reflected off his forest green eyes. And he felt sun kiss his pale skin. Where was he?

"Arthur…" a voice, saturated with so much love and affection, called out to him. And he could have sworn on his life, it was the voice of his mother.

But when he turned he did not meet the gentle face of his mother. Instead he faced the happiest smile he had ever seen being directed at him.

A golden haired boy, much like the color of the field, who had the exact eye color as the endless sky above their heads was smiling up at him; like he was his most favorite person in the entire universe. The cool wind blew pleasantly through their hair.

And for a moment, Arthur forgot about what had made his heart feel all closed and squeezed. And for a moment, it felt like Arthur could smile, even if it was just a little. And for a moment, Arthur felt completely happy being the source of this child's happiness.

The golden angel stretched out his hand and tilted his head to the side expectantly.

Arthur felt no hesitation as he took the soft smooth hand of his personal angel.


	3. Meeting Teacher

There was a little black leather book.

He kept it with him at all times. It soothed his frustrated miserable feelings.

He owned the book for all his life, even when his house burned to the ground. Until every object he once cherished was turned into ashes. He had stood out in the chilly night, silent and strangely clutching onto the little black leather book.

In his warm cocoon of blankets, he held the book close to his face, inhaling its familiar smell of his once normal life. He had been able to get along like that in the orphanage for the longest of time.

When he had finally mastered the art of reading, he untied the book's smooth ribbons. The pages were tinted pale brown, and they were a bit withered.

He read and read and read. Just when he thought he was about to finish, new pages appeared at the tips of his pale little fingers. He sometimes thought the book was alive, because it grew. Yes, the book grew right along beside him. The little black leather book was so big that he had to carry it with both arms by the time he was ten. After a while, the headmistress had forbid him to carry the book everywhere.

Even though the boy was mute, for nearly five years, he had a rebellious streak in him. So it was no surprise that he ignored the Headmistress' orders. He was a tough child that never let anything get to him or slow him down, not even his past. His seniors in the orphanage taunted and teased him for his muteness, his large eyebrows, and especially his ridiculous book; even if they didn't know his terrible past. Children are just cruel that way.

The boy was able to see past the comments and sneers, even getting into scuffles now and then when he was in a bad mood. He had closed his heart in a sense. He bottled up his misery, confusion, and anger and left them for another day that would never come.

Anyways, the book was very much like the burden he carried within him. The book hunkered him down and it reminded him of his past happy life that could never be returned to him. The boy refused point blank to talk about the events that occurred the night many years ago. Instead, he pretended it never happened; like it was another life that was not even related to him. He trapped himself in his idealistic world of magic and wonder. Poor boy.

Or so everyone thought. It was true that the boy did not want to relate himself to his tragic past, but he was not trapped in his disturbed mind. In fact, the wonder had found him.

It was always there. Never was there a single memory when magic was not there. But it just seemed part of the scenery. He could never interact with anything. There were times when he thought himself to be mad, yet deep in him he knew it was all real. It was embedded profoundly in him.

Many, many years or centuries into the future, he would think back and try to pinpoint when it all began.

If he had to decide when it all began, then it had to be those bloody ships. Ah, yes the exotic boats that traveled from distant lands containing a variety of strange plants, animals, and materials. But all these things were not as queer as the people who came off the boats. They were pale, slender and really quite small. They had silky long dark hair and were very self-organized.

It was here where the boy found his first teacher. Yao Wang was quite well aged, even if he didn't look it. He had experienced many things that normal people would never experience in a hundred lifetimes. He had the face of someone who knew much more than he was supposed to. And the boy had seen this right away.

"Who goes there?" Yao's strangely accented voice echoed around. He was almost finished docking the last ship, when he heard a suspicious rustling nearby in the trees. When no response came, the ponytailed man turned around, feigning ignorance. But when he heard the rustling yet again, he gave no warning when he spiraled a sharp knife with deadly accuracy towards the noise. A squeak was then heard. Yao hurried towards the sound and was surprised to see a child scrambling about. It was a bit amusing to find the little one desperately trying to escape, even though he had already been caught in the act of spying.

"What are you doing little one?" Yao inquired the still squirming figure below him. There was no response, only more rustling.

"Hello? I want to know what you are doing here," the man tried once more. The child became more flustered and upset with each passing moment. Then after another few feeble attempts at trying to loosen him from the knife that had pinned him to a tree, he slumped down exasperated and red faced. Yao was going to laugh but noticed the young one's watery eyes.

"Here, you should learn how to ask for help once in a while," and with a strong pull, Yao removed the sharp burden from the child. But the boy, too embarrassed from getting caught, stayed in his spot on the floor.

"Can you tell me your name?" Yao had bent down to the child's level.

Silence.

The man straightened then looked around. He spotted what he was apparently looking for with a smile.

"Hello there! Do you know the boy's name here?" To any other person it would have looked as though the man was talking to thin air. But the boy's eyes widened as he saw who he was talking to. Or more like _what _he was talking to.

A fairy.


End file.
